


The Heart Collector

by Naamah_Beherit



Series: The Journey of a Thousand Miles [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 06:33:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8435236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naamah_Beherit/pseuds/Naamah_Beherit
Summary: It is always difficult to notice the obvious, but when it finally happens, realisations which are brought by it can change one's life forever.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title has been borrowed from a song by Nevermore.

“Vinur, vinur sært tú meg?  
gangi her í tokuni  
hevur tú reikað líka sum eg  
í deyðadjúpu kvirruni?

hevur tú eins og eg  
gingið í tokuni  
burturvilst frá slóðini  
ytst á fjallatromini?  
kennir tú hetta einsemið?”

Eivør _Í_ _tokuni_

 

“Friend, friend can you see me?  
Walking here in the mist  
Have you wandered as I have  
In the silence deep as death?

Have you as I have  
Walked in the mist  
Strayed from the beaten path  
Near the mountain edge?  
Do you know this loneliness?”

 

 

 

 

She had already been sitting on a bench when Mairon entered the forge he shared with Curumo.

He stopped at the threshold, perplexed and wary at the sight of a Maia he did not know and had never even seen before, and who had somehow found her way to his workshop for reasons unknown. She was staring at the furnace with eyes that lacked focus, her arms folded tightly around bent legs she kept pressing to her chest, and her face was twisted in a grimace which was anxiety bordering on terror. Her entire body, tense and radiant like a newborn star, seemed to scream of anguish that appeared to be almost unbearable. He felt a whisper of fire reverberating in the air surrounding her and he momentarily realised what had caused her so much suffering.

She was the only other fire Maia in Almaren and the call appealing to the very core of their nature was too strong to ignore.

Mairon cursed inwardly and reluctantly approached her, unsure of what her reaction might be while she was in such a state. After all, he had himself lost control when addressed directly; how could he predict what she would do if it happened to her as well? Nothing could be certain when the world was in flux.

“I will not ask if you are well,” he began in a soothing voice, “for I can see you are clearly not.”

She raised her head and looked at him, her blazing eyes seeking his. He held her gaze steadily as pity clutched his spirit in its sickening grasp.

“You’re Mairon, aren’t you?” she asked quietly, the simplicity of her Valarin almost terrifying. It was a language that could cut reality into pieces, but she treated it like a blunt tool. It brought him sadness unimaginable. “One of Aulë’s Maiar? They told me I’d find you here.”

“It is indeed I,” he answered and sat on the bench next to her. “And who are you if I may ask? I do not recall seeing you before.”

_At least not here, not in this raiment._

“I’m Arien, a Maia of Vána,” she replied and shifted closer to him. He wondered briefly what the fire spirit could possibly be doing in service of a nature Valië, but in the end he discarded the notion to ask about it. How could he question her allegiance when his own was hazily uncertain at best and she had most likely had no choice in hers to begin with?

He furiously denied to acknowledge that he simply needed to choose what he wanted more: familiar stability or uncertain possibilities. One decision was all he had to make, especially as he had already been invited to inspect the forge set up at his request. _His_ forge, all but finally completed. He had not yet found courage to accept that invitation, not when the first three meetings with Melkor had marked him for eternity, and the fourth had left him physically and mentally exhausted. Thoughts about bravado he had regarded the Vala with still made him nauseous.

A small, deeply hidden and up till now dormant part of him was thrilled at his reaction, revelled in it and craved more. And it was stirring awake.

“Why have you sought me out, Arien?”

She desperately reached out to him, white and yellow flames coming to life on her palm. He tentatively took her hand and his fire of bright orange and deep red tried in vain to find harmony with hers. His flames were strong and steady; hers, flickering and subdued.

“Don’t you hear it, brother?” she asked in a tormented voice. Her choice of words hit Mairon like a physical blow. “That voice. All the time without a moment of reprieve. It doesn’t _stop_.”

He suspected it was understandable to referred to like that by her; he was without a question the only other fire Maia in Almaren. They should have never been separated, he realised as his flames happily reached out to her in a way that was meant to bring her more comfort and reassurance than any words could have ever done. They thrived in each other’s company and together blazed brighter than any of them on their own. Alone, they could barely warm themselves; together, they could burn the world.

And he had to lie to her.

“I... I do not, not anymore,” he replied, settling for a half-truth because for a moment he could not bring himself to deceive her. “I used to hear it, but... it stopped.”

Which was true in a way, for he was no longer subjected to that universal, world-shattering song of power and mastery. There was still a whisper, though, a soft murmur of interest and constant understanding, of comfort freely given and willingly accepted. It was a hesitant dance of two souls which were yet unsure if a permanent contact was what they truly desired.

“I suppose,” he went on and this time it was a lie he was weaving with his words, “I was not interesting enough.”

He sensed the way her spirit furled and twisted beneath her raiment and it was obvious when exactly her unspoken hopes and an overwhelming need for solace shattered and crumbled in heap of shards which could never again be put back together without a flaw. And it was his fault. He did that to her.

Mairon suddenly felt sick.

“I’m tainted,” she whispered and her voice sounded broken. “Tainted and weak. I shouldn’t be here, I should—“

“Arien, _stop!_ ”

She looked at him with wild eyes full of terror and despite disgust he felt at himself, Mairon put his hands on her shoulders in a gesture he hoped would give her consolation.

“You are not tainted and certainly not weak,” he told her, his unwavering gaze locked with hers. “You are powerful and beautiful and stronger than I ever was. Do not despair, all will be well eventually.”

“I cannot make it stop,” she whimpered and grabbed fistfuls of his working tunic as if to steady herself or to hold onto the reality while she felt it fleeting. “He’s in my head, he calls to me, he constantly calls and makes promises, and I don’t want to listen, I never did, but I do nonetheless and they’re vile and tantalising and _wrong_.”

He pulled her close to him and wrapped his arms around her as if he could shield her from the torment inside. She was almost cold to the touch when he rested his cheek on the side of her head.

“Listen to _me_ instead, Arien,” he said softly, quietly. “Ignore that voice and whatever its promises are. Focus on yourself and your own song, and let it grow, let it carry your spirit to whatever you desire, not to what is demanded from you. If you want what is being offered, do not shy away from it. But if you do not, then refuse it and shield yourself. It is simply a matter of what you want.”

“I just want it to stop,” she whispered almost inaudibly, her body limp against his chest, and Mairon felt an emotion he could not identify constricting his throat in a way he had never experienced before.

Was that what he had been supposed to feel when Melkor had called to him? Had he been expected to recoil from him in repulsion and resist the power capable of fulfilling his thirst for knowledge? He had experienced loneliness and emptiness beyond comprehension – how was he supposed to turn down the only being in Eä that relieved his yearning and gave him the peace of mind he had been looking for since the dawn of creation?

If anyone was tainted, it would be him.

_What have you made of me?_ Mairon thought and even though he did not mean to address it to that part of Melkor’s spirit which sang to him, he still heard a gentle note of soothing encouragement in return. It left him overwhelmed with a sudden craving to wrap that power around himself and never let go of it.

“Look inwards, Arien,” he finally said, his voice strained and hoarse. “Forget about the voice, forget about _him_. Think only about what you want. Believe in yourself and trust in your fire. Let it burn freely and in time roaring flames will be all you can hear. Shield yourself with them, make them a barrier nothing and no one can breach. And should you need me...”

He broke off and glanced at the pile of unfinished projects he had earlier planned to fiddle with. Their nature varied and so did their commissioners, and he suddenly lost interest in all of them. Instead, he encased Arien in the flames of his spirit in an attempt to strengthen her defences.  She did not deserve such torment, although he was unable to fathom why a call so alluring would cause her so much suffering. And despite his lack of understanding, he acknowledged that it did which posed questions about himself he was unwilling to consider, even though answers to them had already been given and accepted.

He was musing on a choice while it had already been made, and Mairon realised it terrified him more than anything else had ever done before.

“Should you need me, sister,” he finally said in a voice that was not his own, “I will be here.”

_At least for a while._


End file.
